As Bunnu made his way down the steps to the first floor, he saw his father standing at the front door next to Motiwala, while his mother was sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes with some girl with a protruding forehead. “No…no. You’re doing it all wrong,” his mother said to the girl. “Let me show you. Actually, why don’t you just let me do this! Go and put the meat in the marinade. When I’m finished with this, we can start on the roast. Ah! Bun-bun, darling! Have you met your quarter-sister from Vasalla? She’s going to live with us!”
“Hi.” Bunnu said distractedly, shifting his eyes between the girl and Motiwala, whom he hadn’t seen for 6 months. Motiwala had been traveling with his uncle, the viceroy, to various towns around the kingdom and finally to the palace where he was to meet Charismatic K. Bunnu slowed his pace and walked carefully down the stairs, so as not to make it seem as though he were rushing in the direction of his friend.
The girl smiled at Bunnu sweetly, “I have a little brother? I’ve always wanted a little brother! Hi, Bun-bun! My name’s Didi. I’m your new quarter-sister. I was conceived 48 years ago in a three-way that my mom had with Mr. Raju and Mr. Guni. Oops…I guess I shouldn’t say that when we have company. Sorry about that!” She said as she blushed and giggled, putting a hand to her mouth.
“Uh-huh…that’s great.” Bunnu said flatly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned to Motiwala and chirped excitedly, “So, when did you get back?”
“This morning.” He looked over Bunnu’s shoulder at Didi. “So, who’s the babe?”
“I dunno. Friend from Vasalla or something.”
“Huh. So, Papa wants to have one of his talks again. Can you come over?”
Bunnu looked up at Raju, who smiled back, messing up his hair. “Just be back by lunchtime…”
“Oh no you don’t!” Yuri called from the table. “You haven’t washed your face, brushed your teeth, or-“
“Just let him go, Yuri,” Raju said. “The boy’s father is waiting.”
“What did they say?” Motiwala asked Bunnu.
“Nevermind. Let’s go. Oh yeah! Papa, the Outlander says he needs to talk to you about something. He’s upstairs with O.”
“OK. I’ll go up and talk to him. Be care-“ The door slammed behind them cutting off the last of what Raju said.
The two walked quickly along the snowy roads to the village, not seeming to mind the coldness at all, in their eagerness to catch up with one another.
“So, what’s Charismatic K like?”
“No different from Bunnu-5, I suppose. He doesn’t really seem to know much about ruling a kingdom, so he’s terribly dependent on his ministers to enact policies. But he’s so insulated in his palace and out of contact with the outside world that he doesn’t fundamentally understand what the policies he’s enacting are meant to do. This, of course, works to the advantage of the ministers, who, themselves, have inherited their posts from their fathers and their fathers’ fathers. They are the ones who make the decisions. Not only that, they have incredible control over the everyday operations of the palace, right down to the minutest detail of the king’s affairs. The king is, in fact, like a child to them. An only child, perhaps: incredibly self-absorbed to the point of obsession, for he knows no other way to think than to assume that he is a direct descendant of God. A man of incredible power. And yet, he can see no alternative than to act within the confines of the role circumscribed for him by tradition. The Ministry serves to remind him how far he is to assert himself and what aspects of governance he mustn’t worry about and instead leave to the political machinery to be taken care of—political machinery which has, no doubt, been in place as a consequence of ascension through lineage since Time Immemorial. The Ministry, in fact, have social functions which exclude him, though they are careful to minimize these affairs as being ‘beneath the King,’ so as to give them the functional flexibility as a group to dictate policy from behind closed doors without having to worry about any kind of interference.
“Recently, I’m told they are struggling to keep up with the demands of their proposed infrastructure. Lack of manpower is slowing down the building and maintenance of the public utilities. To compound that, delays on the procurement of resources from other lands are slowing down production. And even when they do have the resources, factories require more hands for faster output, but lack the funds to expand their operations. Overall, the economy is inefficient and mismanaged. We need more hands to organize allocation, procurement, transport, production, as well as distribution. At the bottom level, we have migrant labor, but what we require is more people to aid in the administration of the labor in order to maximize its efficiency. And yet, all this must be maintained strictly by the government, which makes it necessary to establish several more layers of administration. This is causing some to contend that the economy should be further decentralized and public services thereupon privatized, in order to maximize efficiency, but the Ministry is worried about giving too much flexibility and power to corporations, so they are looking at the possibility of doing away with the lottery system altogether and simply drafting anyone who’s ever bought a lottery ticket into civil service straightaway. That way, they maintain control. K, of course, is unaware that all of this is going on. At least, that’s what the Ministers say…or that’s what I think they say. To be honest, I have a slight hearing problem, so a lot of what I understand about the situation has required a bit of guesswork.”
“Yes, I know. So…is Charismatic K really that much removed from the decision-making process? I mean…what about the Mumta soaps? And the trade routes?” Bunnu responded. “Those were his initiatives, weren’t they? I thought Charismatic K liked the Mumta.”
“That he does. Certainly! But that’s another story altogether. Occasionally, the administration has to let the little child have his way, so as to maintain certain necessary illusions. I think they must have been worried about his Mumta fetish, but it turned out for the best in the end.”
“Mumta fetish?”
“Oh. K’s as fruity as they come. His throne room reeks of ghastly Mumta perfumes. It’s horrible! And don’t even get me started on the two little Mumta servant boys he keeps with him at all times.”
“Mumta boys?”
“Yes, yes. Not for eating, mind you…I shan’t forget what became of your esteemed dinner guests, by the way. No…no…he keeps these boys around for other…rather unseemly purposes for a man of his upbringing. You see, the King, despite his charming façade is really more of a disgustingly twisted ninny, whose mind is irreparably warped—though he couldn’t even possibly come to grips with how warped, as he is no more so than the rest of the Royal Family. From the perspective of any rational human, however, he’s downright creepy. Even I was afraid to be alone in the same room-”
As Motiwala continued to talk endlessly about the king, Bunnu looked closely at him. He had changed in these six months. He was still chubby. In fact, bigger than he had been to the point that his belly hung down over his belt. But his nature had become more calculating. He was, one might say, more watchful and careful in his choice of words. He was not as loquacious as he’d once been, but more reserved, despite having become even more harsh in his judgments.
“-picks his nose at the dinner table. Can you believe the behavior they let him-“ Well, perhaps he was still a tad bit talkative. Yet, Bunnu couldn’t help but admire him for his strength and his ability to express himself in such an outspoken and articulate way, especially given his relative youth. And yet beneath all the polished arrogance that Motiwala seemed to possess, there seemed this underlying bitterness that Bunnu couldn’t quite seem to understand. A kind of growing cynicism, the roots of which were beyond his grasp.
“-made them wear these loin cloths!” Motiwala stopped to breathe for a moment.
“Interesting,” Bunnu remarked, not knowing quite what else to say.
“Well… enough about him. I’ve talked your
ear off enough. I’m trying to be more careful about that. So, what about you? How did these 6 months treat you? Has your situation at school improved? Any new friends?”
Motiwala’s reason for asking about new friends was simple: Bunnu didn’t have any friends at his school. Not to say that this had always been the case. In fact, for a period of time until about a year and a half earlier, it had been a rather fashionable thing to have someone like Bunnu as one’s friend, if such a thing could be said. More precisely, having anything Vasallan was all the rage. From clothing, to accessories, to water clocks. The reason for Vasalla’s sudden surge in popularity had to do with the trade routes that had been established between the towns, causing a greater traffic of Vasallan merchants to and from Bahlia. But it wasn’t so much their merchandise, as it had been their strong dialects, which had caught on with the children.
The Vasallan dialect had a certain directness: a nature to it that broke down barriers between people, bringing those of varying social status to an equal level, causing the pursuit of discourse to happen in a seamless and uninhibited way that didn’t give weight to power structures, thus, allowing for a greater sense of comfort all around. In stark contrast to the Vasallan dialect, the standard dialect that had prevailed through the region, at that time, had been that of Karasujima, which was the birthplace of Bunnu-5 and the summer home of the royal family. This dialect, as it was structured upon the assumption that one must, inevitably, one day, engage in discourse with individuals of the highest echelons of society, is highly sensitive to power relationships between people and, as such, requires one, in all situations, to always consider the position of the other person before uttering a word, if only to limit that sense of embarrassment that might arise should one breach protocol.
But it wasn’t the Vasallan dialect itself, so much as it was certain expressions, words, and shortened endings with masculine tones that seemed to catch on. Children started using it in schools, as it became a trendy way to make what one was saying sound more colorful. However, educators and officials in the schools, concerned that the standard dialect was in danger of becoming bastardized into a kind of pidgin language, contacted their regional governments, who, thereupon, mandated that the standard dialect be the language of education, infusing teachers with the responsibility of breaking the will of those who insisted on using the Vasallan dialect, by whatever means necessary. If this wasn’t enough, educators were further endowed with the liberty to marginalize users of the dialect whenever possible in front of the other children—perhaps, for example, by calling them bumpkins or tramps—so as to set an example and designate them as targets for playground mockery. And so it was, that Bunnu, who couldn’t help but use the Vasallan dialect, due to his upbringing, became a kind of outcast among his schoolmates.
Motiwala didn’t go to the same school as Bunnu and, therefore, hadn’t been there to see any of it happening. But upon hearing about it, he had been surprisingly supportive of Bunnu. “Those weak-minded idiots! They can’t even see that they’re being manipulated by the teachers. The teachers are just trying to avoid a student revolt because they can clearly see that if the Vasallan dialect catches on, they will lose control of the classroom. Not giving due linguistic consideration to the established power structures can cause one to question their merit. What the teachers and administration desire is allegiance to their authority and that is why they banned the Vasallan dialect. Power structures carry no weight in your language, and thus, those who use it in discourse have a greater proclivity for questioning authority and in many cases, circumventing it.
“But these Bahlian kids! They’re so ingrained in their traditions that they can’t see the real purpose behind this ban. Gives you a pretty basic idea of what kind of people they’ll end up being when they join the rest of society. Never mind trying to fit in, Bunnu! Do you really want to fit in with such people? It’s the outcasts, the people who are feared because we’re different. We’re the ones who can see through the deceptions that are there to control us. Why? Because we are bearing the brunt of those deceptions. By marginalizing you, they are, in effect, marginalizing your culture. Making it out to be an absurdity that manifested itself through backwards living and an inborn deviancy. That is to say, they are making a mockery of everything of which your identity consists by creating the mystique of Vasallan culture as being inappropriate and irrelevant to their everyday existence, therefore causing you to feel guilty for even having that identity. Because it’s too provincial. Or maybe too exotic. You aren’t enough like them to fit in. Just like me with my hearing impediment. Not that anyone would dream of saying that to me. Not with my social standing. Nevertheless, I can understand what you’re going through. You remember this experience always! Don’t worry…I’ll be around to make sure you don’t!” And with that, Motiwala had taken a great interest in Bunnu’s battle to maintain his identity in the Bahlian public school system.
But despite his appreciation for Motiwala’s concerns, Bunnu hadn’t been able to understand why Motiwala had felt the way he did about the students, the teachers, and administration of his school. Of course, he had felt heartened by his words. For Motiwala to take such an active interest in his identity filled him with a kind of validation. And yet, that didn’t change the fact that he’d wanted to be accepted. Not just accepted, but to fit in. Maybe even, to be revered…but perhaps that was too much to hope for. And yet, the best that he truly could hope for at that point was to be ignored. And so, on the playground in the afternoons, to escape the taunts and the bullying, he had retreated to the shade of a tree by a fence on the far side of the playground. For almost a year, he watched quietly in tears as the other children ran around and laughed. He started to dread going to the playground everyday
That is, until a few months ago, when he’d first met a rather interesting individual, who soon became a good friend and confidante: a captain in the Royal Fleet who went by the name of Coronado.
His Friend, Coronado
I.
Bunnu had first encountered Coronado not so long after the plumbing had been installed in their house. He had been brushing his teeth before bedtime when he suddenly heard the sound of someone groaning: “Ohhhh!”
He jumped back in shock. The sound had emanated woefully and sluggishly from the drain of the bathroom sink. It was a grown man’s voice. Afraid to move or say anything, Bunnu stood still listening. It carried on in drawn-out tones, “Awww…oh man! Oh…! Awwwwwwwww …ma-”
The voice suddenly stopped and Bunnu leaned forward, trying to peek down the drain.
“MAN!” the voice suddenly screamed. Bunnu jumped, but stayed close to the sink, this time, picking up a candle and shining it close to the drain. “Hey!” the voice said in a lazy drawl, “Where’s that light coming from?”
“Mister,” Bunnu said, “Do you need help?” He thought that maybe someone was trapped in the sewers.
“Pussy…I need me some hot pussy. Awwww…yeah. Baby! You know any fine ladies that’ll make it alright? I’m really hurtin’ for some, if you know what I’m sayin’!”
“You’re hurt?”
“Don’t you know it, brother!” the man said coolly, “I need me a fine lady to make it feel alright.”
“When I’m hurt my Mama always makes it alright!” Bunnu responded.
“Oh baby! Now you speakin’ my language! What’s yo’ name kid?”
“Bunnu.”
“Well, Bunnu! I’d really like to get to know yo’ Mama and good!”
“Sure. I’ll introduce you sometime!”
That said, Bunnu had made a new friend that he could talk to whenever he went to the bathroom. On subsequent visits, he found out that the man’s name was Coronado, a famous explorer for the Royal Fleet of Charismatic K and a lover of ladies of all persuasions. Every night, Coronado told Bunnu of some of his exploits as a sexy man in colonies full of repressed, sex-starved women. And in return, Bunnu w
ould dangle a pair of his mother’s panties over the drain, which he’d stolen from her drawer on Coronado’s behalf. “Oh yeah! That’s the shit! I can almost smell ‘em!”
Coronado’s stories of the Royal Navy got Bunnu’s imagination going. And as he sat in the shade of that tree at lunchtime everyday, watching the other kids running around, laughing and screaming, he began to imagine them as members of his crew when he, as a captain in the Royal Fleet of Charismatic K, would be sent to the far reaches of the world to keep the peace! It was something he looked forward to everyday. Watching the other kids run around, he daydreamed.
His men were putting down a resistance of barbaric natives as he sipped at some wine and watched from the deck of his ship. The barbarians howled for reinforcements as his men laughed and threw them to the ground, taking their gold earrings and necklaces, separating them from their women, and charging the whole insurgent lot with incitement to rebellion under the penalty of lifelong servitude as a slave in the kingdom of His Grace the Lord Keisuke-610. Well…perhaps, not slavery…surely, that would be going too far. OK…they shall be laborers. Laborers made to tend to those filthy Heisenpigs on Papa’s farm.
“We have secured the land!” Bunnu told his first mate. “Prepare my boat and save me a few of the women. I want the first taste!” He didn’t really know what it meant to say that, but he’d heard from Coronado that that was what the captains usually said to their crew upon establishing order with the indigenous savages.
These missions to establish order with the savages were commissioned by the Kaiiba-East Mumtaz Company, which was on the move through all the neighboring territories, on a special charter from Charismatic K, securing resources and establishing what they liked to refer to as a ‘negotiating leverage’ over its peoples. Their continued success was brought about by their ability to bring stability, order, and civilization to regions which otherwise had a propensity for barbarism and violent altercations between its opposing factions and tribes. It was this need for their military and economic presence that cemented their interests and brought the resources, goods, and cheap labor prevalent in these areas to parts of the kingdom in which there was a genuine demand. Needless to say, on occasions, the more nefarious and ignorant elements among the savages saw this military presence as a kind of suppression of their people and staged uprisings so as to incite the locals to a kind of lawless frenzy to fight and oppose the order that their foreign comrades were doing their best to instill into them.
It was these captains. These people like Coronado who had been charged with the duty of making it clear to the savages, by whatever means necessary, that their presence in these regions was truly for the good of all concerned. There, after all, was no arguing the kind of improvements that were being brought to these lands. The railroads, advanced farming techniques, public water and sewage systems, education and even venues for public entertainment, such as sports arenas, theatres, and casinos. And yet, despite all these improvements, there were still some insurgent strongholds comprised of ingrates with a case of sour grapes, denounced even by their own governments, that had to be smacked on the nose every so often, as one might do to a dog with a rolled-up newspaper, so as to establish a sense of discipline and order throughout the populace and make it clear just how important civilization is to the good of the people. And Bunnu hoped as he smiled from the shade of the trees, watching the kids play, to get out of Bahlia, one day, and be a part of that fight to bring civilization to those poor, self-destructive savages.
II.
“Well?” Motiwala said to him impatiently.
“Hmmm?”
“Any luck making friends?”
“Not at school. No. But…as a matter of fact, I did make a new friend!”
“Who?”
“His name is Coronado.”
“Coronado?”
Upon telling Motiwala the details about Coronado and how his everyday life had changed since, Bunnu’s enthusiasm was met with a sneer. “He’s clearly some kind of imaginary friend. How childish!”
“Imaginary friend? Coronado?”
“I mean, really! Do you expect me to believe the man lives in the sewers and has nothing better to do with his time than talk to the likes of you? He’s an imaginary friend. Not only that, he’s using you to get to your mother. You’re being manipulated by your imaginary friend!” Motiwala started laughing derisively. “You sad little fool! You can’t even imagine a true friend into existence!”
Bunnu sighed.
“Don’t worry though,” Motiwala patted him on the shoulder. “You still have me! Right? Or rather…I’m stuck with you. But feel free to consider me your friend, if you like.”
“Really?” Bunnu asked. “You mean, you like me?”
“Well…let’s just say that we need each other. ‘Like’ doesn’t really enter into the equation here. You need a friend. I need an interpreter. Quid pro quo. Works very nicely, wouldn’t you say?”
On a street leading to the estate, they saw two boys with bright blue uniforms and caps walking bicycles through the snow. The both of them saluted Motiwala. Motiwala sighed and nodded. “The fools,” he said, when they’d passed. “The Royal Youth Guard. I want to know whose bright idea that was. A youth organization dedicated to patrolling the streets to ensure the future of the rule of Charismatic K? That’s certainly a worthwhile expense. Really! How much allegiance can one man take? He already has two Mumta boys to jack him off. Does he really need the nation’s youth to do the same? I suppose a little nationalism never hurt anyone. Surely that’s the intent here: to keep us all happy and loyal and law-abiding. It’s just despicable how very little is needed to garner the loyalties of the common man, but that’s the whole idea, right? The common man is something to be feared for he still retains the ability to usurp authority for himself through violent or anarchistic means, so something is needed to gain his sympathies and maintain his subservience to authority. Protection of power is of greater priority than the protection of those over whom power is exerted. You catch my meaning?”
Bunnu remained silent for a moment, before responding, “I like their uniforms.”
“Now there’s a surprise!”
At the House of Diogenes